


Pink

by Tiz



Series: Colour of Roses [6]
Category: Farseer Trilogy - Robin Hobb, HOBB Robin - Works, Liveship Traders Trilogy - Robin Hobb, Tawny Man Trilogy - Robin Hobb
Genre: Action, Alternative Universe: Divergence Post Fool's Fate, Angst, Fantasy, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Intrigue, M/M, Not Fool's Assassin Complaint, Plot Driven, Plot Fix, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2226585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiz/pseuds/Tiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Pink Rose blooms,<br/>I shall let you go alone.<br/>We shall part once more,<br/>What will happen is unknown.</p><p>When the Pink Rose blooms,<br/>I hope you’ll forgive me,<br/>As I’ve forgiven you<br/>For the things I made be.<br/>(Fragment of "When the Roses Bloom" by FitzChivalry Farseer)</p><p>[The world of the Realms of the Elderlings belongs to Robin Hobb and to the rightful owners of the rights. No money for me here. :)]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Salt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A_Fool_in_Love](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Fool_in_Love/gifts).



> AAAAAND this is the Epilogue guys!
> 
> Yep! If my pc allows me I'll post the second chapter Wedsneday :D 
> 
> What can I say? I love ya all. Go read "Concerning Love and Plumbing" for a great Fitz&Fool fanfiction :D
> 
> My thanks to Series who is an awesome beta <3

 

 

 

** Chapter 1: Salt **

 

 

 

_I sometime wonder about Tre’Kato._

_I met him but twice in my life, and neither time was under the best circumstances. I still know very little of him. I would later learn that he was the last offspring of a long tradition of historians in the Liantharinan’s court. Was it his familiarity with history that made him recognise the errors that had crept unseen into the White Prophet Doctrine? Or was the opening of Clerres to the Away Kingdoms that I had fostered that gave him an inkling on different ways of life? And who was Depth, the Skill-User from the Six Duchies that he had with him? Was is as simple as a Skill-User occurring in Clerres, or did it mean that Tre’Kato had had contact with the land of my birth?_

_I shall never know._

_Most puzzling still is my own reaction to him. I am not, by any means, a trusting man. Many who have known and loved me beyond what I deserve have pointed out my own reserves to me, my inability to trust and let even my loved ones close. Yet I trusted Tre’Kato’s word almost from the moment I saw him. Looking back at my actions I marvel at how I ate that drugged meal, knowing it would make my Dhil’a, my Wit-companion and I sleep for a day and a night. With us drugged, what would have stopped him from killing us all? Yet I knew he would not harm us, in any way._

_I have no explanation, save one: when I looked at him, I saw myself. Not how I am now, but how I could have been. I knew him, as I knew my own self, or a self that could have been mine, had the Wheel turned in another cycle, had my Keppet been a different person. I could have been Tre’Kato._

_Does that mean Tre’Kato could have been me? That he was another my Dhil’a could have bonded with? That he was a Catalyst in the ancient meaning of the word? Or was he me, and I Kebal Rawbread?_

_For much of my life, I have been my Dhil’a’s tool. With his help and aid I put a Farseer back on the throne of the Six Duchies. For my love of him I freed Icefyre.  I did not know all that would happen. My Keppet told me it would be a better World, with dragons glittering in the sky._

_But many Iduyans would not think so. Those whose parents, children and spouses died in the Sakhadzibe under Icefyre’s own breath and talons would not. And between a child dead under a dragon’s acid breath and a child killed by a Forged parent, who indeed is more dead?_

_I can’t help but think of what the Pale Woman promised Kebal Rawbread. That a World in which the Six Duchies fell was the best one. That it was the only way for a better future. She was evil, indeed, evil beyond words. She murdered and tortured. She destroyed wherever she went._

_But does this make her wrong? For a Six Duchies’ man, she was. For an Iduyan, she was not._

_I can’t help but feeling that, when we went into the Pale Woman’s Ice place, my friend saw his mirror. And when we went into the Aquamarine Castle, a lifetime and half a World away, I saw my own._

The first thing I noticed was the heat. The second was my thirst.

I opened my eyes, the inside of my mouth sticky and my throat parched. The light was painful. I made a sound and closed them again. I waited for the pain to subside and my sight to adjust, and then opened them carefully.

An unreal silence greeted me.  I felt weak. I moved my arms and legs feebly. The rustle of fabric seemed unnaturally loud. I blinked and turned my head. My friend was curled up in the bed beside me, his drug induced sleep still deep. His fine dark hair veiled what of his face was not hidden by his arms.

I struggled to sit up. The covers had tangled around me, and my weak attempts to dislodge them were as useless as they were pathetic. I managed to push myself up and looked around. Motes of dust danced in the light. By the height of the sun, I surmised it was midday, or perhaps a little after. Snowcloud slept silently on the floor, away from the sun, her flanks moving with the steady motion of her breath.

I strained my ears, but nothing could be heard. There was no sound beyond the endless churning of the waves. The heat made even the gulls and seabirds still. The Rainy Season had passed, and the Dry Season was upon us once more. I shook my head to clear it. No voices. No sounds of footsteps or the neighing of horses or baying of dogs.

We were alone in the castle.

I managed to untangle the covers from my legs and stood up. The world wavered in front of my eyes, like the horizon does on a ship. I waited, quenching my nausea, for the movement to subside. Then I took two cautious steps. Water, I reminded myself. Water, then food. I could recall where the kitchens were. Slowly, I walked through the deserted corridors. My head ached, but it did not hurt. Often I stopped to rest and wait for the World to stand still once more, but my thirst drove me onward. I met no-one.

I don’t know how I managed to get to the kitchens, or how long did it took. After a while I stumbled inside. The place was as empty as the rest of the castle, but nothing showed signs of haste. Every pot and pan was in order. The hearth had been swept, and the bamboo contrivance to cook rice was clean. I looked around, searching for water. The barrel was against the cool stone-wall. I wrestled the ladle from the hook and drank deeply. The water was lukewarm, but it quenched my thirst. I threw some over my head. It helped to clear my thoughts. I looked down at my own reflection in the disturbed water. My hair was still a reddish colour, and the black pupils ate away most of the gold. My expression was bewildered. It would be another day before the drug would leave my system.

I went to search for something to eat.

In the end I found very little. Some Iduyans dried meat and hard tack,the kind sailors eat, had been left in a casket. Everything else seemed to have been taken away. I tore into the meat, feeling like a wolf satisfying his hunger. I wolfed it down with mouthful of fresh water. Every bite seemed to clear my head a little.

When I was sated I filled a jug with water and prepared a bundle of as much food as I found. It was quite a lot, but I knew it would have to sustain us until we reached a White Inn. My left hand was almost as deft as usual, even if it felt somewhat strange and small. Satisfied I took the bundle with my right hand and reached for the jug with the left. I tried to lift it, but the weakness of my grip surprised me. The jug slipped from my feeble grasp and fell, shattering with a sound so loud my heart jumped in my chest. I looked at the fragments and the water scattered over the once pristine kitchen as I curled and uncurled my left hand. Then I filled another jug, placed it with the bundle on a tray, and made my way back to the room where my Dhil’a and wolf-dog slept.

I quested for Snowcloud. She was drowsily still, almost asleep. The Fool was always hard to read in my Wit, but my guess was that he, too, was waking. I walked faster, mindful of the jug full of water. I had left the door ajar. I went in.

The Fool was sitting up, his eyes clouded with confusion and alarm, but his expression relaxed in seeing me. He made a noise at the water and gratefully drank deeply, as I had done. I handed him the food without a word, and waited.

In the end he dried his mouth with his sleeve and looked at me.

“We are alive.”

I shrugged.

“So it seems.”

He folded his hands in his lap and stared at them. He didn’t ask if we were alone. It was too obvious to ask. I eyed Snowcloud. She had lifted her head and was shaking it, blinking. I rose to pour some water in the now empty bowl close to her. She lapped it up greedily.

“They have left Clerres.”

My friend’s voice was quiet, soft. He sounded bewildered. I turned toward him, surprised. He was looking out of the window, still sitting on the bed, but he didn’t look like he noticed what went outside.

For a moment, I thought about saying nothing, but the words were drawn from me.

“What else could I do?” I asked him. He turned toward me. His dark eyes were troubled and deep. There was a slight frown on his brow. I sat by him and waited. There were words to be said, as much as I dreaded them. He hesitated then shrugged and opened his palms.

“I… don’t know. I couldn’t see any Future that was not… pain and death.” He swallowed. A muscle in his jaw tightened. He squared his slender shoulders and met my eyes. “But some of those brought their defeat.”

I nodded. I too had seen it, the breathtaking kaleidoscope of futures and possibilities my friend saw.

“Yes.” I agreed, softly. “We may have defeated them. But should we have?”

His eyes widened with shock. His dark skin paled as much as it could and he clenched the covers with his slim hands. A stab of pain reached me from our bond, deep and wounding like a spear thrust.

He turned his head on his shoulders sharply. He didn’t speak, but our unguarded bond showed his feelings as clear as the sun showed the motes of dust in the air. Confusion, and a soulful pain that sounded like clashing notes by an off tune instrument and felt like drowning in the acid spit of fire-ants, burning inside and outside at once. Gasping, with what little strength I had, I tore myself from it and raised my Wit-walls. I looked at him, and blinked.

“You think I agree with them?” I asked, incredulous.

He thinned his lips.

“Don’t you?” He asked, his usually light voice quiet and raw. I winced at hearing it.

“No.” I blurted out. I reached for his hand. “No.” I repeated, softer this time. “But I think they have right to it. To believe what they wish to.” I floundered and swallowed. I pressed his palm with my thumb, squeezing gently. Words had always been hard for me, but not talking would lead to worse results than otherwise.

He pressed back, but did not look at me.

“They burned the White Library.” He spoke as if the words hurt him. As those words had razor edges and cut his throat as they went outside him. Perhaps they had. There was anger here, deep and dark. I did not like him speaking like that.

I nodded. “Yes. And perhaps this way you’ll learn to look truly forward, instead than backward among the words of dead prophets.”

He snatched his hand away like I had burned him. I stood still and closed my eyes, wondering what would happen now. I suddenly felt sick, and tired. I was but recently crippled, and more than half drugged still. The food I had eaten sat in my stomach, hard and uncomfortable. My shoulders drooped. I did not regret what I said, no. It had had to be done. How many time had I opened an abscess in a horse’s hoof or a dog’s muzzle or feet? It was necessary, in spite of the pain it caused, to open the wound ever more. As it had been necessary with my back. I felt a faint twinge of pain as I waited, probably likehow a condemned man waits for his execution.

He said nothing. His breath was fast and laboured. Snowcloud yawned and trotted toward me, nuzzling sleepily at the bundle with the dried meat. I opened my eyes and gave some strips to her. She tore at them hungrily.

“I… We need to go.” I lifted my head. He was busying himself with his pack, taking away a new robe. Dimly, I became aware I was still dressed in my foul-smelling clothes. I tugged at the collar of my shirt and then averted my face from my own stink.Nighteyes would have said that I smelled like last week’s kill.

I rose to my feet and went to my bag. I took up the first clean clothes that came my way. As I did so, I heard the click of the door behind me. I sighed. I didn’t need to turn to know that the Fool had gone to wash himself.

_This didn’t go too well, sister._

Snowcloud yawned and stretched every muscle of her body.

_Perhaps, brother mine.Or perhaps not. This hunt has not been brought to bay yet. Clean yourself, will you? You are fouling the air._

I glared at her but she simply lolled her tongue at me. I sighed, admitted defeat and went to search for a place to get clean.

 

I avoided the baths in favour of the kitchen barrel. I knew the Fool enough to know he was probably there, if anywhere. I looked at the bandage on my left hand. It was little more than show now, and dirty besides. Slowly, I unwrapped it. The flesh on the side was good and new and paler and softer than the rest of the hand. The hand looked too small and too slender. I remembered the jug of water, and resolved to exercise it to strengthen it. There was not much more that could be done. I washed with the clean water and the soap I had taken from our room. When my hair was clean, I combed it out and then bound it back once more in a warrior’s tail. I shaved in the mirror with a sharp knife I had found in the kitchen, nicking myself twice in the process.

I tried my Skill-links. They seemed as strong as ever. I wondered if they had felt what I had been through in the last… four days. Had it really been so little time? But I could feel neither worry or urgency. I did not know if I should feel disappointed or relived.

I quested toward Vien. As usual, my Solo was ready to answer me.

_Vien, bring clothes and everything necessary to Dalat. We shall meet there._

For a brief second I could feel my Huan’s surprise, but Vien was nothing if not well-taught. He suppressed it swiftly.

_As you wish, my liege. I can be there in three days._

I counted in my head as I washed my hair. I would need more time to get there, though the ground to cover was less. But Vien would have the well-kept White Roads to travel on. I had no such luck.

 _Very well. I shall contact you soon_. I hesitated _. Bring head-dresses._ I added, gloomily, remembering my reddish hair.

I could feel his assent as our link faded. If he was curious, he didn’t show it.

Clean, I felt better. I trotted out to the courtyard, followed by Snowcloud. The Fool was there, looking around the stable. Two horses, of the peculiar blend of Road Horse and Iduyan’s Pony I had noticed earlier, stood there. I wondered if they had left them to us, or if there was no space for them on the ship. Or both.

I passed by my friend. He was dressed in his Auburn garb, the dark cream and soft brown good for the hotter Dry Season. Her arms were bare, and so were her legs under the knees. She had light shoes of cloth on. I dared not to glance at her face.

I saddled both horses in silence. They had been left food and water, and were fine, if eager for movement. I put what little we had in the saddle bags as Snowcloud jumped in the water trough. Her splashing was the only sound in the midday silence.

My friend was in the saddle before I could take the second horse out. She was a mare, and a lively one. I eyed her chest and rump. If she had stamina, perhaps she could make a good horse for my stables.

“I am going directly to Behit. I’ll have to sort this.” With my foot in the stirrup, I turned sharply to regard him. My friend was not looking at me. I mounted without a word.

“I understand. The closest White Inn is in Dalat. We could go there and…”

“No Fitz.” He cut me before I could finish. “You go to Dalat. It is the First City of the Vei Province. I’ll go to the next one. It wouldn’t do for King Chinh and the White Prophet to appear in the same White Inn, on the same day.”

I kept looking at him. He avoided my eyes and my face. He was right, of course, but this was not the only reason. I nodded slowly.

“Very well.” I said, quietly. We rode in silence out of the open gates, leaving the silent castle behind us. It would need tending, as would the fields around it. I would have to send a steward here. In that moment, I couldn’t muster the energy to care.

He turned his horse sharply to the side, taking the second road. I stood still, Snowcloud behind me, reigningmy strong little horse with difficulty. She was a sensitive mount, though, and something of my distress must have passed to her, for she quieted under me. I looked on, in silence as my Dhil’a rode on, mindless of me. For a second he stopped his horse, and I wondered if he would turn and salute me. I wondered if I wanted what could be a farewell. For what I had done was grave indeed in the law of Clerres. And I could only dimly realize how it seemed to my Keppet eyes.I had trusted an enemy. I had given information to a foe of what he thought of as his kin. I may have undermined his people’s duty forever. Worse, I had conspired to create something that could unravel the whole tapestry of prophecy, if the burning of the library hadn’t already managed that.

But still I could not regret my deed. Every action has a reaction, and if our own awakening of the dragons had brought people to want to live and die without any influence from the White Prophets, how could I deny them? It was my doing.

All of it.

And he had wished for them to go away. They were going away, of this much I was sure. I briefly debated saying this to him, but I could find no breath in the oppressive silence of the heat.

Before I could decide what to say or if to speak, he gave heels to his horse and the animal, eager for movement, galloped on. I looked at my friend, and wondered what would become of us.


	2. Scar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to beg forgiveness. My pc didn't allow alas =_=  
> Now I am sneaking on the office pc... shsss don't tell anybody.
> 
> What can I say? I love ya all. Go read "Concerning Love and Plumbing" for a great Fitz&Fool fanfiction :D
> 
> My thanks to Series who is an awesome beta <3

 

 

** Chapter 2: Scar **

 

 

_A White Diet is the meeting of all leaders of Clerres, called by the White Prophet and him alone, in Behit._

_White Diets have been called for the most disparate of reasons, from deciding a dynastic dispute to acknowledging the moment of a great change. The last one was called by White Beloved thirty years ago, to deliberate over the choice of Liantharin’s royal heir._

_White Diets are called by the White Prophet, who talks with the Prior. The word is then spread through the White Road to all the lands of Clerres. By tradition, the monks closest to where the King, Queen or Ruler is will go to their Huans and tell them of the Calling._

_Immediately the King, Queen or Ruler shall abandon whatever pursuit they are engaged with and prepare to leave. As with the Seventh Year Meditation, the travel of the Royals of Clerres for a White Diet does not include retinues, save for their Huan, and must be done on the White Roads._

_As in the Seventh Year Meditation, every Royal shall reside in their own abode in the Mountain, with only their Huan and their spouses (if those are Royals, too) as companions. Every Royal and Ruler of Clerres keeps a residence there, with clothes and all that may be needed in case of Calling, lest they be called improvident. Differently from the Seventh Year Meditation, both the Kings of Vietmar have to be present._

_There is no excuse for not participating, save death or a very grave illness indeed._

_The White Diet itself is held once all the Royals have arrived, generally inside two moons of the moment of proclamation. All the Royals have the right to speak to the White Prophet and ask questions about what he is doing. But once the decision is made, it becomes part of the Law of Clerres._

_The reason the White Diet requires all the Royals of Clerres to be present is that all of them become witnesses of what is done, and swear to take arms in case the final decision be broken by any of them._

_In all the history of Clerres, this has happened but twice, once when Queen Shiadra of Uzkabat did not accept the unfitness of her firstborn daughter to rule after her and the second when Dhevron and JastMiras fought over the border between Dhevron and Atremandia. In both cases all other countries of Clerres went to war, and in both case the judgment of the White Prophet was upheld, as it should have been from the beginning. Uzkabat, Dhevron and Atremandia were then forced to repay the costs of war, and an additional one to the White Prophet, as is just. Queen Shiandra, High Lord Chander of Dhevron and the Count of Miras were sentenced to death by cutting for they had committed treason._

_No other country of the White Land tried, ever again._

_History of Clerres_

_By Tzeoa Jast-Loyr_

 

I recall little of the three days it took for me and Snowcloud to reach Dalat. I trudged on, sleeping in villages when I found them and under the stars when I didn’t. The little horse had the sturdiness of the Iduyan’s pony and the stamina of the Road Horses. She brought me valiantly on.

I inspected the canals as I went. They were in a good state, and people all over were busy putting out lanterns and baking sweets for the Moon Festival, the festivity of children and the harvest. The rice was plentiful in the fields, in the orchards the branches were bending with fruit, and the vegetables in the gardens were fat and plump. The whole World smelled ripe and ready for picking. Even in the Jungle we passed by the flowers were in bloom, and their scent was intoxicating enough to cause Snowcloud to go half mad, making her run up and down the road. I could not help but smile at her antics, at her jumps and yipping. It had been a good season for my land and my people, that much was certain.

I had no communication from the Fool. He had taken none of the food. I worried about this at first, but it ceased soon. I did not want to think about it. I did not want to think about him at all. I had enough, between what I had taken from the castle and the rabbits that Snowcloud brought me. The weather was mild and dry. I travelled without troubles.

I arrived in Dalat in three days, almost as much time as I had spent in the Aquamarine Castle. It was late morning when I sighted the city. I stared at it closely. I had not seen it in years, many indeed. Not since I had been the Commander of the Border Patrol, years before Sendàr took me as his King-Brother. Even before I departed for Waitan, as a King I had rarely left Dushanbe. Sendàr did all the duties that connected the Crown with the Nobles. It had seemed prudent then. Now I wonder if it had been.

Dalat is a big city, and used to be more prosperous than it is now. Once it was called the Little Lhansa, fabled for its beauty and arts. The Little Lhansa had fared better than the Great, and better than Seel, as well. The refugees did not litter the streets anymore, at least. They had created houses of earth and flimsy wood at the outskirts of the town. I gazed at them as I passed by. Their poverty lacked for the most part the squalor of Seel. There were signs of people doing something different than beg in the market, whether it be hiring out for the harvest or working humble jobs. In my Wit, they felt more subdued than desperate. I frowned. The province’s canals had been kept in good state, but the situation of the remaining refugees needed to be addressed. I would have to speak about it with Vien.

I made my way toward the White Inn. It was quite a big inn, big enough to have a Stablemaster to whom I left the willing little horse. Snowcloud followed me to the main room.

It was that time, when the harvest had begun but the Moon Festival has not, when the Inns are almost empty. The place, after all my years in Clerres, looked familiar enough, even if I had not been in this Inn. I sat on a table and waited for Vien to spot me. I rubbed Snowcloud behind her low-tipped ear. Her fur was still black, even if she had taken daily bath in ditches and canals, but the colour was starting to fade. I tugged with my right hand at my hair and looked at it gloomily. Still far too red, though of a darker hue than in the beginning.

I felt a familiar presence coming closer and I turned my head. I lifted my eyebrows, unable to reconcile what my eyes and my Wit were telling me. Vien was not wearing the usual Huan’s cassock, and the long clothes with beige trousers and a soft brown tunic looked strange on him. I blinked as he walked toward me. I stood up and mentioned I would follow him. He nodded, his black eyes searching my face. Something swam in them, like a fish in deep water, but his face was as close to my eyes as his mind to my Skill.

We went upstairs.

As I had expected, Vien had taken the best room, the largest with an adjoined bath. As soon as he had closed the door behind Snowcloud and me, he bowed deeply.

“My liege. I bear news.” I frowned at him. From his tone, I doubted it was good news. I crossed my arms over my chest and waited.

Vien swallowed. “I regret saying that part of the Great Sail Fleet has been stolen.”

I blinked.

“Stolen?” I repeated, stupidly. “How can a fleet been stolen?”

Vien spread his hands in front of him.

“I do not know. The Great Sail Fleet was ready to depart as soon as the First Day of the Moon Festival arrived. There was only a skeleton crew onboard.” I nodded. Such was the tradition. “Details were… vague when I left, but it seems that a group of determined people assaulted the ships in the night. Five ships. The sailors must have been drugged, for most of them recall little or nothing. They set sails in the night. At first, people assumed it was for some legitimate reason. It was only in the morn, when the bound sailors were found in small boats fastened to the wharf that the dockworkers called Dockmaster Tan...” As he spoke, I felt something not unlike relief wash over me. It must have shown somehow, for his voice died down in a quizzical look. I breathed out, sitting on the mattress and uncrossing my arms. They were gone. A tension I had not known I was carrying left me, leaving me almost lightheaded with release. They were really gone. I breathed deeply, then exhaled.

I looked at Vien. He had folded his hands in his sleeves and was standing stiff and straight. His usual pose in the unusual clothes made the posture look even more defensive than it usually seemed.

I sighed again and gestured at the trunks and chests close to the wall.

“You did as I requested.” I winced, at the thought and smoothed the simple clothes I wore regretfully.

He nodded slightly. “Your retinue is in Dalat, as well, divided in several inns and taverns.”

I nodded back. I sat on the mattress, rubbing my left hand.

“You did well. Tomorrow you’ll go to the Lords and tell them King Chinh is here. We shall probably have to spend the Moon Festival in Dalat.” I lifted my eyes as I spoke. Vien’seyes were huge, his lips parted. He had paled. I followed his gaze. My left hand lay in my lap together with my right one, and the comparison between crippled and healthy was painful to watch. I averted my eyes. I could feel Vien’s eyes on me. I looked at the window in the wall, at the sprawling city and clear blue sky. Vien said nothing. The silence was almost palpable between us.

Snowcloud yawned and walked toward a simple rug, circled on herself three times and fell down. I could perceive clearly her bland amusement at us. I sighed. I recalled clearly our early time together, our fights and his reluctance in serving me, a reluctance that sometimes bordered in hatred. Long gone. As my own subtle disgust and mistrust in my eunuch servant.

I took a deep breath and met his eyes.

“Sit down, Vien. It is a long story.”

He did sit, if too straight. I launched in my tale. I told him of the Aquamarine Castle, of Tre’Kato, of the Iduyans. I forced myself to speak of Icefyre, his role in the Iduyans’ raiding of Liantharin and my role in his awakening. As I spoke, I searched both his mind and his face for blame but both were closed to me. He tensed when I spoke of people who rejected the White Prophets. His eyes opened wide with shock. When I said how I had let them go, he looked at me as if I was mad. Our Skill-bond was mute with pure shock.

I waited. Vien’s mouth moved like a beached fish.

“You… you let them go?!” His astonished tone was proof enough in my loyalHuan of the magnitude of my crime.

I nodded.

“I am the Catalyst.” I said, softly. “This is how I choose to change.”

Vien looked at me again, uncomprehending. For a long time, we said nothing.

Then he moved, with the jerky motion of a puppet. He lifted himself to his feet and made to the door, without glancing at me.

“I… I shall call for your bath. My liege.” The last words were almost an afterthought.

The door closed behind him.

There had been times when I have thought that I have learnt all there is to learn about Clerres and the people who inhabit it. Time and time again I have been proved wrong. That was one of these. I was, am, a man of the Six Duchies. Of a place where the ideas that somebody has absolute power over the Future is a laughable tale of a far-away place in the best case, and completely unknown in the worst. I had not grown up believing that a White Prophet had inherent rights. And I knew them enough to be aware not only of their ability and magic, but also of their flaws and limitations. Vien was a child of Clerres.

As was my Dhil’a.

I closed my eyes and quested toward Snowcloud. She was dozing as both dogs and wolves do. I let her sleep. She was tired enough without having to deal with me.

I fell down on the bed and stared blindly at the ceiling. For a moment I longed for the boy I had been, the boy who could lash out at Burrich and Chade and at his royal blood and bastard birth for not having his way. Who could selfishly run with the wolf and forget to be a man, with man’s care and loved ones.

But I was no more that boy.

I blinked, and was surprised when two tears rolled behind my ears. I dried them. I had no time to waste in weeping like a lovesick maid in a tale.

I closed my eyes once more and tried to think about the ramification of what had happened. I thought of Dockmaster Tan. It was indeed no fault of his, for who could suppose such a thing could happen? But it could be a good excuse to find another Dockmaster, as he had been appointed by Sendàr’s father, and had never been a supporter for change. Yes. It could work.

I had just come to this decision when some serving boys entered the room with water for my bath. I pretended to be asleep. And so I did when Vien prepared my bath.

Only when I heard the door closing again behind my Huan did I rise and go to bathe.

 

I do not care to recount of the five days that followed. Suffice to say that Vien did his duty and I was received in the style a royal guest required by the Lords of the East. I exchanged conventional words with nobles who wanted me dead because I made them richer and walked on gardens where winter had never blown. I kneeled to be purified by the incense, the strong smell making my eyes water, and I delivered to the population the speech they expected about the state of the canals. I still reeked of the too-strong incense, and I glanced longingly at their simple feast where whole pigs were roasted and peddlers of noodles soups, both salty and sweet, started their businesses and bands played their vivacious tunes. I sighed to myself, reaching out for the comfort of Snowcloud, only to find her pleasantly asleep in the kitchen, her belly full of good food. I couldn't help but smile. Then I straightened and went on with the rituals, turning to the Lords of the East so they could tell me the good tidings of their lands.

All was how it should be, and nobody could have seen their animosity in either speech or action. But I could perceive it with Wit and Skill, the sensation not unlike prey being surrounded by hungry wolves, waiting to strike at my slightest sign of weakness. It kept me tense and made me sleep with my arms around Snowcloud’s form, smelling her clean wolf scent, trying not to dream.

When I dreamt, it was of pain, and the sharp red of my blood on the ground and the sickening sound of my flesh rendered. In my nightmares, it was not always my finger I lost. Sometimes it was all of my hand, or my arm, or a leg. Sometimes I watched the razor-sharp edge falling over my neck, and felt my own head rolling away.

I tried not to dream, with my herbs and with my companions. Sometimes it worked. Often it didn’t.

And I waited. For what, I knew not.

I Skilled to Chyne in Silvarin and Bitter Moon in Dushanbe. They were well, both of them.Jek was positively livid for the theft of the fleet.Chien was growing robust, and asking for me. It warmed me to hear it, and Snowcloud almost howled her joy. Chundra’s pregnancy proceeded well. She was in her second month, and still well enough, aside from the usual pregnancy discomfort. Another thing I should think about, this child. I did not have the strength to do so. Dockmaster Tan resigned his post discretely while I was away, taking full blame for the theft. I had thought Fizek would be a good substitute, but the lad thought himself too young, and so an older dockworker, an old sailor of the Great Sail Fleet, was appointed in his place.

So nothing happened beyond rituals and ceremonies and rehearsed words. I met both the two Lord of the East and their sons and exchanged formal phrases and gestures. Nobody mentioned my crippled hand. I soon discovered I had lost much strength in the grip, and I started to exercise it. It was strange, but there was nothing I could do about it.

I knew what I was waiting for the fifth day, returning in my appointed quarters in the West Palace. It was a grand place, just a trifle less beautiful than the Royal Palace in Dushanbe. All the richness that had poured from Liantharin to the West Province was showing in the rich carving in mellow, golden wood inlaid with red stones, rubies for my quarters and the main halls, and garnet and corals in the other rooms. It was beautiful indeed, but as red reminds me of blood and in my state, it washardly conductive to a relaxed sleep. Even the coverlets showed the same patterns.

Vien looked at me. Ever since our brief talk in the Dalat Inn he had been reserved and withdrawn. I didn’t know what do to about it, so I did nothing. He was looking at me, now, more keenly than he had since then. His lips were slightly parted and his eyes had a wild expression. He looked dazed and bewildered.

I waited. He took a shaky breath and straightened his slim shoulders.

“The Ancient Library of Behit has burnt. White Beloved has called the White Diet. All Kings, Queens and Rulers of the White Land have to go in Behit.”

I blinked.

The wait was ended.

 

 


	3. Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, with today, Colour of Roses ends.  
> I started to post it in May 2013. I do not know how many of you have been with me since the beginning, nor how many people read this. But I want to say I am grateful for you to have been with me in this journey, with my Fitz and my Fool and Vien and Chyne and Chundra and all the other.  
> What can I say? I love ya all.   
> Go read "Concerning Love and Plumbing" for some more stories about Fitz&Fool :)
> 
> My thanks to Series who is an awesome beta <3

 

 

** Chapter 3: Skin **

 

 

_The old tale of Clerres says that once there was a white woman, who had eight children with eight human heroes, and that from those eight children a White Prophet would be born._

_As many old tales, this one too has a grain of truth. The Ancient Whites, who called themselves Ieldryr, had children with another kin, and those walk the World still. But the children were many more than eight. They are every man and woman alive today, for Mankind began from the union of White and the other race that populated the World in the Time of Ice. Each of us is a half-breed of White and Tribe. We carry both of them in our blood._

_Even since my Vision I have thought of them. Of their lives and their deaths._

_The Ieldryr knew how to work metal and could write. They built cities and charms, and their cities were charms themselves. Their lives were cyclic, like the lives of migrating birds, moving with the wind. They saw the Future, but could not change it, and indeed their whole Time was etched in stone, unchangeable. For all but one of them, life was more like a puppet playing a role than a living creature exploring its life. They were slender and light, rarely taller than five feet. They were indeed white in skin and hair and feather, and laid eggs. They resembled birds more than mammals in many ways._

_It was Ice that killed the Whites, for they were not build for the harsh climate and frigid winters that were coming. What are now the lush jungles of Waitan and Vietmar were then a barren wasteland, not unlike the cold, wind-swept Iduyans steppe. Much changed in the thousands of years since we came into our inheritance, but before the weather would get warmer again, all the Whites were dead, leaving the World to their half-blood children._

_To us._

_I know little about the other race. They called themselves the Tribe. They lived as nomads, in leather tents or caves or dwellings made of earth and bones. Most, but not all, of them had the Wit. They were dark, tall and sturdy, with big bones and big muscles. Their eyes were shadowed by a ridge of bone. Their lives were simpler and harsher than the White’s, but they were completely of their own choosing._

_We that we call ourselves “humans” have taken from both of them, as a child takes from his parents. But, as a child is diverse from both his parents, so are we different from both of them._

_Ancient Ieldra needed the Dhil’ayr pair to guide them in the changes they couldn’t foresee. Do we need them still, I wonder? Perhaps not as our distant ancestors did. I know of some who may disagree with me, but I know enough of Prophets to think that a World with them is indeed better than a World without._

 

The White Words, the most ancient and true law of all Clerres states that, once the White Diet is called, nothing must stay between the King and his duty to the White Prophet. Vien had already packed most of my luggage. I would take the little half-Iduyan’s mare that I had called Nomad, and he would take his Road Horse. I finished my last preparations while he went to excuse me to the Great Lords.

I bathed. I forced myself to eat the light mid-day repast even if I was not hungry.

I knew not what to think or what to feel. In some way, I was hurt he had not called on me. Our bond was still here, as vibrant and eerie as ever. Couldn’t he have used it to convey his decision to me?

_Stop chasing your own tail, brother mine. It is only charming when you are less than six moons old._

I glared at Snowcloud, but she just yawned at me. I shook the backpack and frowned. In eight days he had not reached Behit, for the travel between Vietmar and Behit takes around two tendays to complete, and that only if the direct White road is taken. He should be in the part of the White Road that goes close to the confine between Liantharin and the M’kang desert. Likely he had advised the Monks in the White Inn.

I was not surprised that the news of the burning had not reached Vietmar. In truth, I would been surprised if it had left the Behit Monastery. But I supposed that his knowledge of it would help restore the monks’ confidence in him.

I saluted the members of my retinues, which included Than Jast-Loyr, a high-rank Huan, ten guards, all choosen and well known by me, four cooks and a honestly too great a number of valets and general servants. I was relieved I did not have to bring any of them with me. I took aside Than, and instructed him to inquire about the Schooling Law implementation in the province. The Huan, a middle-aged man with bushy eyebrows and shrewd eyes, nodded at me. He had never had a Lord, as far as I knew, but had been a historian in the Great Trainer’s Hall. He valued knowledge and had enough political cunning to manage the queries without giving offense.

By late afternoon we were on the White Road.

I had been surprised by how quick we were left to go our own way. Ever since I had become King Chinh, quickness of act is something I have missed, and often sorely so. Every action I took had to be shrouded in the proper forms, and if a proper-born King of Vietmar could have had some leeway, I had none, for I was but the Daman Vua. I had often wondered about the differences between a royal bastard and a royal son, and found the latter waiting. Much more so, I could not admit, than what I used to think in my youth.

But my departing from Dalat to Behit was nothing if not swift. There was no feast, no banquet or ceremony. No long ritual greetings. Vien put what we would need for the travel in our saddle-bags, told the Great Lords of our call, and we went.

We rode past twilight and well into dusk. Night had fallen when we met the first White Inn, and left our horses to the Stablemaster there. Vien went to ask for a room, as not even a king can demand from the White Inns, and I waited outside the stable. The Wit-sense of the steeds was clear, their simple tiredness from the road or eagerness to leave again refreshing against my mind. I lifted my eyes to the sky. There was no moon, and the stars shone like jewels over a black velvet cloth. The night smelled of the luscious smell of the ripe fields and the blooming trees. I passed my fingers over Snowcloud’s head, cherishing the feeling of her fur between my fingers, and tried not to think.

Vien walked toward me. I sighed and turned my head to him.

He folded his hands in his sleeves.

“There is a room adequate for you, my liege.”

With an effort, I detached myself from the stable wall and nodded.

“Very well. You should arrange for some food for yourself and Snowcloud, and something for us to bring with us…” I did not finish the phrase when I felt a tendril of Skill reach towards me. Both Vien and I blinked and locked eyes. We had both recognised the Skilled one behind the call.

I frowned and reached back with the Skill, through the Skill-bond that unites me to my Solos. The presence of Bitter Moon was not unlike her name: soft and strange. Bitter Moon is a woman that some would call past her prime, but her strength and her Skill are greater than many younger than her, women and men alike.

_My King. I bear tidings._

_Speak, Bitter Moon. I am listening._

_The Queen shall come to the White Diet. I shall accompany her until the gate of the Residence, where I can’t enter._

My surprise was so great that I almost lost contact with Bitter Moon. Vien frowned. He was listening, as well. A look of alarm passed on his face at hearing of it. Snowcloud lifted her muzzle and looked at us both.

_I... am here, with the Queen. She may speak to you, through me. It may be better, my liege._

I blinked again and breathed out slowly.

_Please, do_. I waited. Chundra had never had problems with the Skill, showing a remarkable interest in it, if no Skill herself.

_Good Evening, Chinh_. I sighed. Vien and Bitter Moon retreated in the background, and blocked their Skill not to eavesdrop. Snowcloud, of course, showed no such regard.

_And to you, Chundra. Now tell me why you think coming all the way to Behit in… your state is a good idea._

I could feel her sigh. _My, my. You have always cut to the meat of the matter, haven’t you? Well, I am the Queen of Vietmar, it is my right to come._

I frowned and closed my eyes.

_Your right, Chundra, not your duty. You could stay._

If she had not been too well bred, I think she would have snorted.

_And miss a White Diet? Those don’t come so often. I doubt I’ll see another in my lifetime. No, Chinh. I am coming. This is important. I want to be there._

Chundra has no Skill herself, and yet I could perceive all sorts of currents in her last statement. It was not only the shallow curiosity she showed in her words that prompted her to do the journey. As she had said, that must be important. And firsthand knowledge is better than a second hand tale.

I was about to speak, when I hesitated. Something else was there, a curiosity that had little to do with politics, with either Uzkabat or Vietmar. A curiosity that had to do with me.And with the White Prophet.

_Yes. I want to know._

I blinked, surprised she had felt my intuition. Once more, I wondered if our assessment of Chundra as devoid of Skill had been accurate, or if there was a kind of Skill that showed itself only in such situations. I took a deep breath. Chundra was there, in my Skill-Link with Bitter Moon, waiting. I wondered about breaking the connection, or lying, or both. But we were going to a White Diet, and I had reasons to think my own crimes would not be overlooked there.

_I am his Catalyst. And he, my Prophet._

I was not expecting the depth of Chundra’s shock. The Skill-Link faltered, frayed, and broke. I fell in my body. I stumbled on my feet, and fell on the ground, barely putting my hands in front of me to stall the falling. My ears were ringing. My mouth was dry. My face was damp, because Snowcloud was gleefully lapping at it. I batted her away feebly.

As Vien helped me on my feet again, I wondered if I would ever stop shocking the people closer to me.

 

Twenty days had passed since the day I left my friend. Nineteen days of travel on the White Road, alone save for Vien and Snowcloud. In some ways, it was an unremarkable journey, if one discounts all that inevitably goes with such journeys. After the first three days or so, things settled into a remarkably monotonous routine, variedonly by the different countrysidewe passed. I felt that something momentous should have happened in those days, for had we not changed the World again? Yet nothing happened, and as it was the last day of travel, I glanced longingly out of the decorated window at the White Road, still empty at the early hour.

The further to the North we went, the cooler the temperature became. By our last days in Uzkabat, Vien had to purchase warmer clothes for both of us. They were not what he would have chosen, if he could, and he tried to make a case for a rest of two days to attempt to find something more suitable for the King of Vietmar. I refused. The sooner we could be in our residence, I debated, the sooner we would find the warmer clothes that were left there. Vien relented, if grudgingly.

Now he was looking at me, his face blank and his hands in his sleeves. I sighed and turned to look at the window. The sun was rising over the mountains.

Behit is a country of mountains that rise from the vast planes of Liantharin and Uzkabat. There is little warning, and no sloping hills like the ones who herald the Mountain Kingdom of my birth country. Rather, the mountains surge forward, as if lifted by a great force under the earth in eons past and were left there. They are silent memories of a more dangerous past.

We had entered Behit two days before, and even our Road Horses had to slow their gait on the upward slopes. Our path led us through immense stands of cedar, pricked here and there with groves of white paper birch and seasoned in burned areas with alder and willow. Our horses’ hooves thudded on the White Road, a forest trail, and the sweet smells of the autumn were all around us. The White Inns looked strange and archaic, perched on the rocky cliff and sometimes cut into them, with ancient paintings of mountain gods and spirits over the wall. Several people in colourful costumes milled about, for Behit is a rich land in its own way. Many of them were White Monks in the traditional saffron garb, scuttling about. I supposed it was for the White Diet, for it certainly required a high degree of work from the Monks, but I made no queries.

Nobody questioned us. I wondered if they knew I was King Chinh. I never asked.

Nor did Vien.

Vien had been unusually silent during the whole journey. He had Skilled to Chundra and Bitter Moon, but we had decided against waiting for them. Chundra’s condition did not make for an easy or fast travel, and the sooner we could be in Behit, the better.

Now he was watching me as I went outside, tightening the plain brown woollen scarf against the cold. He saddled his horse without a word. Snowcloud yawned and trotted beside us. Her fur was not anymore the glossy black of thirty days before, but neither was it the usual, immaculate white. Grey, she looked more wolf than dog. My own hair had lost almost all the reddish colour, and I could wear it again free on my shoulders, bound only by the warrior tail. I wondered what Snowcloud thought of her current colouring. She did bathe as often as possible, and Vien and I had spent much more time than should have been warranted in caring for her coat. I did not make comment. I was wise enough for that, at least.

Behit’s mountains are unlike the ones of the Mountains Kingdom in many ways. They are taller, for one, and harsher. Whilst the lower slopes were full of trees and beasts and life, the higher slopes are starkly devoid of them, a realm of endless ice and stone. Whoever cut the White Roads did not care for simplicity or, I thought as I watched a cliff a mere five feet from my horse’s hooves, safety. My head swam. I breathed deeply. It was the altitude, I thought myself, nothing more.

The Road is cut in the live rock, and goes for speed of travel rather than comfort or easiness. The people of Behit cheerfully trudge on, carrying enormous weight in woven basket over their shoulders. As I let Nomad chose her footing, I wondered how they did so. There were less and less of them as we made our way into the Mountain, for we were approaching the Royal Ground, and nobody can be there during the Seventh Year Meditation or during a White Diet on pain of death.

We did not stop for lunch, but ate in the saddle. The sky was overcast with grey clouds that promised shade rather than rain. The cliff-cut road made space for a wider valley. I stopped Nomad. She was tired, and would be glad to rest. I patted her neck and looked around.

The valley had always made me think of a sword-wound inflicted on the mountains by an irate god, for it is long and narrow. It ismade of grey rock and white snow, with several streams cutting the rocks and pooling in a larger one, which went down the mountain to become the Heise river. The sun beat the ice, without denting its ancient depths. Grasses as gray as the rocks emerged like tufts of fur on the ground. Nomad tore one of those and chewed on it, tiredly. Mountains surrounded the dale on both side, their white peaks daunting and unforgiving.

Vien’s horse stopped by me as I looked at the dreary landscape.

The valley’s other end was loft in a white fog, but I knew what I would find there. I wondered not for the first time, why the most ancient White Temples had been built in such an unforgiving climate, especially considering the Whites' own dislike for cold.

Several buildings dotted the valley, like the jewel-flints that are the symbol of Clerres. I studied them, but found no sign of life. I dared to hope we had come first in the Royal Dale of Behit, and no other regal household had taken their place in their jeweled residences.

I gave Nomad a kick, reassuring her of the close food, water and shelter. The promise buoyed the strong little horse and she moved with more decision than she had in days. I petted her neck again. The horse’s hooves resounded in the silence.

I turned around a rock, and a small building greeted me. Its size belied its beauty and grace. Ever since I first came to this country, the delicacy of its houses had taken my breath away. It still does, after fourteen years. The house was a small, two-story pagoda, an octagon with curved eaves and subtle carvings, of flowers and mythical creatures unlike any I ever saw on the veranda. The columns that kept up the roofs were entwined branches. Unbroken snow surrounded it. I dismounted, my boots breaking the snow with a creak.

Snowcloud yawned and ran up the stairs, scratching at the heavily carved doors. Vien charged after her, opening the doors before she could do damage. My companion bounded inside, but with less than the usual flippancy. Even our Wit-bond was muted by tiredness. I sighed and brought the horses to the small stable. It would have been Vien’s duty, but he was better at kindling the fire and making the residence ready.

I fed and watered the horses, then brushed them, grateful for the good work done by the Monk’s servants. My head was still feeling light, and every little movement left me out of breath. My crippled hand had not regained its strength, though I had at least learnt how to grip. It was a start.

I walked slowly inside the house once again. I was tired, and more than tired. Still, the splendor of the place overwhelmed me for a second. All the shade of amber and soft brown illuminated the room. Subtle carvings, splendid tapestries and supple rugs enticed the eye. A delicate smell of incense permeated the air. A great fireplace, with a roaring fire, occupied two sides of the octagon. Vien was kneeling in front of it, feeding the fire pieces of wood. Snowcloud was asleep in the luscious rug in front of the hearth. I sighed again and turned towards the stairs, grazing my fingertips along the carved and lacquered banister.

“I am going to sleep, Vien.” I did not wait for his words, if there were any. In the upper room, which was as beautiful as the lower one, I stripped and let myself fall on the bed. I was too cold, too dizzy and too tired to even try to fix myself a sleeping draught. I closed my eyes, and hoped not to dream.

 

A rough shake woke me. I opened my eyes and flung to my right with my close fist. I met nothing. I struggled some more, still in the grip of sleep, flaying my arms. I was in the dungeon, I had to escape…

“My liege!”

Vien’s voice snapped me out of my strange reverie. I froze and blinked. The small exertion had left me panting and my naked upper body was cooling. I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. Then I remembered. Of course.Behit.The White Diet.

A blanket was draped around my bare shoulders. Vien looked at me, concern in his dark gaze. It touched me, for reasons I couldn’t name. I had not realised how much I had come to rely on my Huan’s silent regard until it had been retreated. But Vien’s eyes showed sincere worry, even if his face was blank as he had been taught.

_A sloth indeed you are. Perhaps we should get you a new companion once we are back among the People, brother mine._

I blinked again and quested toward Snowcloud. She was rested and full. So were the horses. I frowned. How long had it been?

_You sleep from mid-sun to mid-sun brother mine. A sloth, as I said. You are sooo slow._

I ignored that and turned toward Vien, lifting my eyebrows.

He took a deep breath.

“I have made some… inquiries, my Liege.” I nodded. Of course he would have. “High Lord Sensari arrived yesterday in the evening, not long after us.” High Lord Sensari, of Dhevron. It did not surprised me. Dhevron’s capital, Riashi, was by far the closest to Behit than all the other cities of Clerres. The Stronglord of Thantres would probably arrive soon. I racked my brain to remember the name. Arjun, I decided, or Arjuna.

As he spoke, Vien had turned and walked toward a low table. He came back with a tray of hot, dense stew of dried meat and vegetables. I was surprisingly hungry.

I started to eat, waiting for Vien to either leave or speak again.

He did neither, watching me, his hands folded into his sleeves. He had changed his robe, and now he wore the customary cassock of the Huans, in a heavy cream fabric. Slowly, I lowered the spoon and returned his gaze.

He sighed. His shoulders were hunched. He swallowed.

“The… The White Prophet requires your presence. At once. Alone.” The last word sounded like it was forced out of him.

I looked at the stew, chunks of meat and root bubbling in the surface. Suddenly, the smell sickened me.

I breathed out and nodded slowly, putting the bowl aside with care, and stood up. I scratched my chin and winced. I had not shaved since Dalat, and neither had Vien bugged me about it. He had not bugged me about a great deal of things.

“Very well. I shall make myself ready.” I rose from the bed and took the simple, brown wooly garment he had bought in Behit. Vien made a strangled sound. I looked at him. He was wringing his hands, his lips thin. He took a deep breath before speaking.

“My liege, let me prepare a proper ensemble for you, and shave you.” He begged. Something inside me thawed, but I shook my head, slowly.

“I am not going as King Chinh, Vien. I am going as FitzChivalryFarseer.” How long had it been, since I had said aloud the name I thought mine? “So that all that may befall on me will not hurt Vietmar, too.” I added. Vien paled, but I held his gaze. We both knew.

What I had done in the Aquamarine Castle had a name in Clerres. Treason. The penalty for treason was death by cutting. My skin would be slowly sliced, until I bled to death.

Or so the law said. I doubted my friend could bring himself to order the complete punishment.

Vien held no such belief on the Prophet’s compunction. He took a deep, shaky breath, but said nothing as I got dressed.

Would he banish me, I wondered, fastening my last scarf around my neck? Death would perhaps be better than living the hundreds of years I faced alone.

_Such gloomy thoughts, brother mine. I am coming, too._ Snowcloud did not seem preoccupied. I wondered if she had any idea of the gravity of my action. Perhaps it was too human a thing for my wolf-dog.

I nodded my salute at Vien, and made to descend the stairs. Then I stopped and turned, clasping Vien’s slender shoulders. They trembled under my hand. It surprised and moved me, this proof of affection behind and beyond the loyalty owned from Huan to Lord, that not even my crime against the White Prophet could shatter.

“Take care of Chundra, Chien, and of the new baby for me, Vien.” I asked, quietly. He nodded jerkily, then once more, slower. He straightened.

“I shall. You have my word, my Liege.” He said, quietly. I heard his resolve in the steel tone of his voice. He was not shaking anymore.

I nodded and left for the stable.

The valley was longer than it looked. I passed the residences of the Kings and Rulers of Clerres, beautiful like gemstones. I had little care for them, or for the cold that bit me through my garments.

I do not recall how I went from the dwelling of the Kings of Vietmar to the Great Hall of Behit. At some point I must have left Nomad in the outside stable and walked the Ten Steps, each made of a precious stone, but I don’t remember it, as I don’t remember talking with the old monk at the door, nor Snowcloud’s comments, which surely she made.

The Behit High Temple is beautiful beyond words.

It is made from a natural cave, so high and vast that it feels like the belly of a giant beast of some primeval Cold, the kind of which some people believe once inhabited the World. My breath condensed in front of me. The cave is cut in marble, and the immaculate white of the column and statues of ancient White is intersected with wall panels in all the colours of the rainbow, depicting scenes from famous prophecies done with precious stones inlaid. Lapis lazuli for the sky, emerald for the grass, sapphire for the ocean. Mosaics made of jewels.  The light from the cleverly hidden lamps glitters and glistens, and the jewels reflect it in a multitude of lights and hues. The air is thin and laced with incense and sweet smelling oils. Snowcloud sneezed.

Every one of our steps echoed in the silent cavern.

Nothing stirred or lived.

Several seats lay in the center of the cave. They were each dotted with a single precious stone: diamonds, emeralds, amethysts, ambers, rubies, sapphires, onyxes, jaspers, pearls.  Each was different from the other, from the diamond-inlaid bench of the Emperor and Shining Empress to the pearls encrusted tall footstool of Malach.

Thrones for nine countries. Each was with its tall back to me, facing the tenth, biggest throne of all. It sat on a mound after ten steps. It had the precious stone of every single royal seat in spiraling, swirling patterns that I recognized so well. The lights fell so that it was painful to look at it.

I had half expected to find him sitting there, as some sort of judge passing judgment on my crime.

I should have known better.

“I have always found it quite tacky.”

I turned. The Fool was leaning over a column, his arms crossed over his chest. He was dressed in a simple garb, trouser and a tunic of undyed wool. His long dark hair fell over his shoulders, kept away from his eyes by a woolen cap. An earring of some light wood dangled from his left ear, carved in a complicate pattern more beautiful than all the jewels of the room.

I breathed out.

“It is.” I admitted. We were both speaking the language of the Six Duchies, I noted. I didn’t know why.

Snowcloud trotted toward him, but perhaps even she knew better than to try to jump on him to wash his face. She contented with nudging his gloved hand.  He scratched her behind her ears. She let us talk, for which I was grateful.

“Why do you think I called you here?”

I met his gaze squarely.

“The punishment for treason is death by the thousandth cuts.”

His slender hand stilled among Snowcloud’s fur.

“I see.” His voice was strange, as the words lacked breath.“And you think this is why I called you?”

I shook my head. That had been Vien’s fear, all along. Never mine. He raised an eyebrow. His hand resumed his petting of Snowcloud.

“No. Not you. Not ever. But what I did…” I expected him to continue. He didn’t. His dark gaze was so unlike the one of the mischievous jester of my boyhood that I felt a pang of loss, as if he had died somewhere. But then, that jester was as dead as the impulsive fool I had myself been. And I did not love this creature of burnished gold any less than I had the albino Jester. “I do not regret it. But I know you don’t see as I do.”

He sighed heavily.

“Indeed. I don’t. And neither can you see as I do.” He pushed himself away from the column and walked toward me, his steps as light as they had ever been. His gaze held the same strength that makes a compass point North. I was the compass, I suddenly realized. He was my North. I could not leave, nor look away.

He stopped in front of me, and put his hands decisively over my forearms. He breathed out a cloud of white smoke. The reflected light gave strange colours to our breaths. I leaned a bit toward him. He closed his eyes, leaning his head forward.

“Beloved.” He said, quietly. Our foreheads touched, and something that had been clenched tight ever since he had left me at Dalat gave way, like a dam breaking. I trembled, blinked and swallowed. His eyes were closed still. I could feel his breath on my lips. I closed my eyes, and all I could feel was the touch of his forehead against mine, and the sound of his soft voice, and our bond glistening more than all the gems of the room. Snowcloud watched us in silence.

“You do not see as I do. And yet you always trusted me. Always.” I said nothing, because it was true. “Perhaps it is my time to trust you as you had trusted me. That you have changed the World for the best. Though I can’t see it.” I swallowed, not daring to open my eyes.

“Is it that simple?” I wondered, aloud. A puff of his laughter caressed my lips. I tried once more. “You trust me, and I trust you? Can it be that simple?” I asked, again.

I had not opened my eyes, but I knew he was smiling. “Yes. It can be. Because I love you and I know you. So, I can trust you as you trust me.”

I swallowed my tears. I must have been unsuccessful, because his fingers, delicate as butterflies, danced over my cheeks.

“Beloved?” He asked me, softly.

“It is nothing.” I said, hating how strangled my voice sounded. “It is just… You haven’t said it in a long time. That you hated me, you said. But not…”

My voice died in the echoes of the cave.

He sighed. “I never hated you. I have always loved you. And always will.”

I nodded again, my eyes stubbornly closed, and gathered him in my arms.

His slender form felt right and good in my arms as he wriggled to get enough room to hold me back. We stood in the deserted, jeweled cave, holding each other. I had not felt like that in a long, long time. Perhaps since the days of my first childhood in the Mountains, before my grandfather gave me to my father's house and thus changed the course of my life and of the World. I was complete. I was loved. It was the promise I had had in the Skill-Pillar, realized in flesh and blood.

“I love you, as well.” I croaked out. It was not flowery said, nor done with the pretty words and phrases he surely deserved. But it was all I could say.

I did not trust myself to open my eyes. He shivered in my arms, and it was not for the cold.

“In a tendays they will all be here, to talk about the burning of the Library.” He spoke again, his face hidden in my neck.“I shall speak about it. A tragic but necessary incident. And about how we had discovered the more ancient White City in Waitan. How I had learnt the Ancient Language, and how we shall start study the ancient, lost ways once more. And about how my Catalyst led me to both changes.” As he spoke of his Catalyst, his hand caressed my bound hair.

I swallowed again, wondering about an appropriate answer. About any answer at all.

_Not fair!_

Snowcloud jumped between us, making us fall in the ground in a heap of limbs, fur, and clothes.

“Snowcloud!”

She yelped. Her mind was alive with joy at our newfound harmony, bright and shining in our bond. Only then did I understand how much our strife had wounded her. I recalled her silence on the journey, her subdued spirits and patient waiting. I hugged her strong neck, burying my face in her fur. She wriggled free and started washing the Fool’s face with her tongue. Her delight was too great for me to crush it, and it suddenly came to me that I truly had nothing better to do at the moment. It was play, pure and simple. So we wrestled, all three of us, in the cave of jewels and royalties, our laughter shattering the silence of the stone and ice, like puppies of the same pack.


	4. Interlude

 

 

**_ Interlude _ **

 

 

_The Sky watches a new branch of the tree of life._

_Among the tall, conical buildings, slender children play ancient games. They have fair skin and brown or blonde hair, and their eyes are unclouded by ridges. Their laughter bounces against the buildings. Women with big bones and dark skin look at their children and scowl, but hasten back in their encampment outside the strange city, looking at the houses with open suspicion, even after all these years.They are mostly dressed in leathers and furs, but some have clothes of the graceful and colourful fabric made there. The children are dressed in both clothes, and seem not to care._

_The children don't seem to share their mothers' disquiet. They play. And they help. An older boy, at the brink of manhood, is in a building, with another man. The second one is fully grown, though smaller already than his stouter son, and has white skin, pale as snow. The fire roars in the forge as the Ieldra shows his son the ancient art to work with metal. The brown-haired boy raises the hammer over the anvil, learning the craft._

_The city is alive with the sounds of people. And strife._

_A big, burly man with dark skin and deep ridges is arguing strongly with a woman like him. He gestures to the outside of the city, brusque. Angry. The man's hair has strands of grey through it. The woman is younger by far, lithe and strong. She shakes her head at her father and gestures at the children, laughing and playing. Some are watching what is happening._

_A man not unlike the children walks toward them. He seems old but looks young. His face and body shows no sign of aging, but his grey-blue eyes show the wisdom of centuries. An old scar has eaten away half of his face, but nobody in the city seems to care. The children stop their game to make room to him. The boy in the forge stops his work to look, as does his Ieldra's father. A she-smilodon trots behind the man._

_"What is happening?" His voice is soft and youthful, but with the strength of years behind it. The dark man turns to face him and squares his shoulders. Flint looks back, without flinching._

_"My daughter. I promised her to the leader of a nearby tribe, and she runs here! She must be brought back."_

_The girl grits her teeth and blurts out. "I want live children!"_

_The punch is fast and it hits the girl in the nose. There is a sound of something breaking. She falls, sprawling, on the pawed road, her red blood darkening it. Flint blinks._

_The she-smilodon is faster than the slap. She is atop of the dark man. Flint crosses his arms over his chest._

_"Go away. Now."_

_The she-smilodon leaves him. The man looks at Flint, at the people who are coming. The boy in the forge and his Ieldra's father have come with the big hammers they use in the forge._

_He scrambles on his feet and runs away._

_A young girl with slender bones and dark hair is helping the girl. Flint nods at them both and turn his head._

_A dark form parts from the shadow. His body is black, with a sheen of grey, not unlike fine obsidian. His hair, eyes, and skin are the shades of night. Flint talks with the girl like him and with the Ieldra's blacksmith, and then, while they bring the refugee to a safe place, he walks towards his Dhil'a._

_"It is the third time in as many moons. More and more women are coming to have children here. This girl," he nods toward the newcomer who is wobbling away, her nose broken but safe and where she wished to be, "Says that there aren't enough women in some tribes, now. And they keep dying, or running away."_

_Vanyel nods and looks as his Dhil'a. He touches Flint's scarred face._

_"I know. Soon it shan't be our problem."_

_Flint frowns, and looks at Vanyel, but the Seer is watching the woman limping away._

_Summer comes and goes. So does Winter, Spring, Autumn and Summer again. It is Winter once more in the White City, and life and death are happening._

_Vanyel sits in his room, at the top of the main building. The most beautiful.The one in the center, the heart and soul of the city._

_He is sitting by Flint's side. His Dhil'a is breathing softly, but he coughs once in a while, a strange, rattling sound. His breaths are shallow and growing shallower. Vanyel tenderly tucks back Flint's hair, still as blonde as when he had met the child, so long ago in the plains. He has changed more, his flesh gone as black as the night outside. There is no light in the small room, Flint has asked for all the lamps to be unlit, so that his spirit would not be confused in his journey to the other side. Vanyel has agreed. He had agreedto everything Flint had asked since last Spring._

_The Dhil'a rests his hand on the forehead of the one who has given him his name and title. Then he breaths out. He rises in silence and walks out, leaving Flint behind. He walks, and he is as silent as always, but his movements bespeaks of the tiredness of old age. He enters the room where there are the eggs during the season. Still some, but not more than ten or twenty every ten years. But it doesn't matter anymore. Other will bring on the blood of his kin._

_It is also the room where many of the Tribe's women go to give birth._

_He walks in the place, waiting in the shadows. There are no screams, only panting and harsh sounds as a woman with a broken nose gives birth. A Tribe's woman and anIeldra's one are there, as well._

_Vanyel walks closer._

_In the end, with a strangled cry, a babe is born, slippery in the hands that have come to catch her. A gasp of surprise is heard from the Tribe's woman and Vanyel smiles, because the baby is as white as the snow outside._

_The Seer walks closer still. "She is the next Dhil'a of this place, and she will bring you all in a new age." He says, quietly and clearly. All the three women look at him with round eyes, but he doesn't stop. He looks at the baby, white and human and perfect, and her eyes meet his. Vanyel smiles at her, a secret smile the infant is too young to answer._

_Then he turns away and makes his way back to his rooms. He has to stop to catch his breath. It is their night. He knows, had known for a long time. He hurries on. He doesn't want to leave this World without his Dhil'a at his side._

_He walks toward the nest like bed and tucks himself in with Flint, his movements careful for both their sakes. Flint turns and opens his eyes. They are distant and quiet, like he is already seeing the World beyond but he tries to smile at his Dhil'a._

_"Is she…?" Flint's voice is a bare whisper, but Vanyel nods._

_"Yes. A girl. She will be the next Seer. Her Dhil'a shall be born soon, as well." His own voice, without the sureness of prophecy, is raspy._

_Vanyel arranges himself closer and Flint manages to put his head under his Dhil'a chin._

_"We… made it."_

_Vanyel nods and looks at the ceiling. He holds the body that has his Dhil'a spirit still, if not for long. Then he turns and presses his forehead against Flint's cool one._

_"I'll sing you to sleep, Modred." He promises, with the ancient name of his companion, forgotten to all but him._

_He starts singing softly into the night, his last love song to his companion._

_When the Sun, the first Sun of the little white girl’s life, rises the day after, and its rays caress the room at the top of the central building of the White's city, there is nobody alive there anymore._

 

 

\----------------

 

 

_Looking back, I can’t help but smile at the memory of the three of us, rolling on the gem cave. Not all was done, no. Much of it wasn’t._

_There would be royals to speak with and to convince, and my Fool’s words would change how Waitan and Vietmar were seen once more. How they saw me, too, not anymore only the Daman Vua, but also as a Catalyst._

_Soon Li-Hua would be of age and nobody knew what would be of Liantharin. Would her father, Kuan, give up the throne without a fight? Few thought it possible. History would prove they were right._

_I still did not know why a Six Duchies’ Skilled One was serving a Liantharinan’s rebel, nor where Tre'Kato had found much of his knowledge, or where the island that Captain Chai had found is._

_I do not know what had been of Dutiful, or Nettle, or Molly, or of the people I had loved and love still. I have no wish to know what it is bound to happen: their aging and their death, that will come so much sooner than mine._

_But we were together. Snowcloud and my foolish Keppet and I. And by then I had realized, what I know now: that as long as I had them, I would be not need more._

_So in spite of the fact that I know we shall keep fighting till the end of our lives, I can write this, at long last: the last phrase on my memories._

_I am happy._

 

FitzChivalry Farseer

Once Royal Bastard of the Six Duchies

Now King Chính of Vietmar

Forever Catalyst of White Beloved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 To everybody who had been here until the end.
> 
> Cheers! *raises a glass of wine*


End file.
